sic 'em.

This post is a little overdue...but a few weeks ago, we had the privilege of celebrating Melody's high-school graduation. This little jet-tsetter is currently in London, but, we just wanted to send our sincerest congratulations to the valedictorian of Hinton High School's class of 2008. She gave a beautiful speech that made us laugh & brought tears to our eyes. We are so proud of you! And, so unbelievably excited that you chose to spend your next four years at Baylor. Not only are we thrilled about all that you are about to take on and what promise your future holds, we're (somewhat selfishly) pumped about coming to visit you at our alma mater. We know you are going to love it, and I couldn't even begin to tell you how much you're going to learn, grow, and experience. We look forward to hearing about your friends, your dorm, your football games, your road trips...and watching you shape your own Baylor story.

As melody prepares to 'fly from the nest', I'm reminded of my own transition that began with that emotional trek - the 12 hour drive from my little two-stop light town to that new independent life. Looking back now, it hardly seems like I'm looking at myself there in that car. We change so much, it's almost like there's some threshold of memories that we can hold on to and still feel like ourselves, and anything behind that point is just some fuzzy imagination. It's incredibly surreal. It's been seven years - never in my wildest dreams would I have ever imagined that that trek would have led me where I am today. Change is constant, but I can't help but be so surprised by it every time. I suppose this isn't a unique feeling, most everyone feels this way...that's our unpredictable, uncontrollable (even though we oh-so-try) life. Looking back seven years ago, so much is different (good different...and well, better-get-used-to it different) ...but to me, the magnitude of change in my life seems statistically significant (as my science-mind would say), meaning moreso than would be expected from chance alone.

I'd read somewhere that every single cell in the human body replaces itself over a period of seven years. Seven years?! There's not a single cell, not even the smallest part, of me now that was a part of me back then. And, yes, I suppose it feels that way. Instead of some rolling maintenance schedule, I can't help but feel like some of those cells got together and decided to just change all at once.